Puukko
by fury-shashka
Summary: It is the knife edge that is hardest to walk.


**Just a short one-shot having to do with Lucius and Ginny. This is a very different relationship from The Radiant, and this one-shot is not related. Don't read if the idea of a Dominant/submissive relationship or anything having to do with S&M or bondage doesn't appeal to you.**

**- fury**

* * *

She watched as he twirled the hunting knife in his fingers. Such long fingers—long and sturdy and pale, broad-knuckled and lithe. Her wrists ached. She pulled them, wincing at the tight bindings that were cutting, so slightly—just enough, just that side of too much—into her skin. There would be marks. She would have to hide them come tomorrow, and the day after, and even the day after that. She pulled again, harder, and burbled out a sound of rage.

"You tied me down."

Her voice broke the syrupy silence, surprising even her.

Lucius laughed, almost mirthlessly, and looked at her through lazy eyes. He laid the knife down beside his thigh, the silvered blade glinting beautifully on the dark bedspread.

"I didn't need to tie you down, Ginevra. I could keep you pinned to the bed with one hand while I did whatever I wished with you."

Ginny swallowed as he continued.

"I could turn you over and force your face into the pillow and keep one foot—one foot—on your _head_, pressing into your mandible and your temple and your cheek, and take you here—" and here his hand trailed between her legs—"and here—" and here his hand trailed lower—"and you wouldn't even so much as be able to _scream_ or _beg_ for help because you would be struggling to breathe. To live." He had lowered his mouth to her ear as he spoke the last few words and her breath had fluttered and wrung out her throat, caught like a wren.

"Now." He turned his torso and she stared at his light hair—hair that was pulled back and fishtailed into a braid that hung down his back. Ginny stared at the plane of his shoulders, the muted lines of his upper neck, his nape, half-hidden by his hair. When he turned back, he was holding a strip of fabric loosely in his hands.

"What the fu—" Ginny's words were stopped by one of his hands fixing over her mouth, clamping down hard. The bed next to her depressed even more as he leaned closer to her.

"_Language_."

Chastened and yet angered, she ceased trying to curse him from behind his hand, yet continued to stare at him. Ginny was aware, now, of the power of his body—the way that his hand covered her entire mouth and portions of her jaw, reminding her that if he chose to clench those libertine fingers, she could very well die, face mangled and crushed like an insect. She shuddered, and a whit of a smile winged its way across his mouth.

He gagged her swiftly, reaching behind her head to tie the linen in a tight double knot. She hissed gutturally as some of her hair got caught in the tie. Ginny tried to speak, to harsh at him for being so careless, but all that came out of her was a low, garbled groan.

Lucius laughed.

"You are truly stunning like this, Ginevra. Naked and lashed to the headboard, unable to speak or harp or bitch. You are, of course, completely at my disposal." She narrowed her eyes at him and tried to spit in his face, the gag effectively ruining her efforts. Lucius reached his left hand back and slapped her, stunningly hard, across the face. She hissed, hissed because she couldn't scream or fight or speak, and the pain exploded, blazing across her cheekbone in a sear of red and white jags.

"You will behave, you traitorous little animal." His voice was low. "Now—I have waited long enough and since you cannot tell me _no_, I will assume that you mean_ yes_ and I will do what I please. With you."

Ginny clenched her fists, curling her slender fingers into the palms of her hands as moved above her. He was still fully clothed—she knew why he had done this, too. It was a power balance; she was naked and supine, and he was clothed—armoured—and in the dominant position. It was a move specifically meant to make her feel lower and frightened. It was working.

He threw one broad thigh over her hips, and straddled her, the weight of the cradle of his pelvis and groin sinking into her. She groaned with the slight discomfort she felt, trying to support his weight with the tops of her thighs. Ginny could feel her buttocks flattening into the bedspread and the flesh of her legs flattening. The wool of his trousers was alien and abrasive against her naked body. She groaned again, attempting to curse him.

"The more you keep trying to talk, the faster you will begin to drool. How exquisite that will be—your luscious little mouth, wide open, with that humiliating saliva just _seeping_ out." His voice was vitriolic. Ginny made a decision to stop trying to talk—just to take that little pleasure away from him. She quieted her throat, staring up at the ceiling, at the headboard to which her wrists were bound.

A sharp pull on both of her nipples forced her eyes back down. Lucius was holding a breast in each hand, his thumbs and forefingers clamped around her. Smiling at her, he tugged again, pinching her until her skin was red and pink. Her nipples became so tight it was nearly painful for her.

Ginny growled.

He looked up at her, and nearly had an expression of pleased surprise on his face. Rearranging himself and settling heavily back down onto her body, he raised his hands to her chest again. Staring directly at her, he tightened his grip around the tips of her breasts, and pinched. _Hard_. Harder than before. Lucius held on, applying an even amount of cruel pressure, and then tugged again on her while still pinching, pulling her breasts away from her chest, the heavy weight of her flesh suspended only by the hold he had on her nipples. Ginny made an animalistic sound, against her will, and snapped her head back into the pillows.

"You little _slut_." His voice was near her ear now, and she realized that she could feel the wool of his waistcoat against her chest, against her treacherous nipples. He was hovering above her body. Ginny turned her head away from him, shutting her eyes. Lucius grabbed her chin with a painful grip and turned her head back to centre.

"Stay still." Without anymore preamble, he slid his tongue inside the curlicue of her ear, tracing labyrinthine pathways with the tip, and then inserted the wet flesh deeply. Ginny held back a moan, her throat clicking as she struggled. She could feel his bowed lips smile against her ear, and he closed his teeth down around the lobe and bit. Her body jerked. He laughed a flitting haunt of a laugh and she felt it against her as he continued down from her ear, down to the straining tendons of her neck. Holding her chin, he tilted her head up and away from him, causing her to cry out against her gag, and swept down the slide of neck with one wet hot lash of his tongue. She cried out doubly, flexing her thighs in arousal.

Lucius let go of her chin and pulled back.

"Was that a sound of pleasure I heard, Ginevra?"

She wanted to smack the satisfied look off of his face. When she narrowed her eyes and started to shake her head, he grabbed the hank of hair at the back of her head, curling his fingers in close to her scalp. Her eyes filled with tears at the pain of it. Lucius held her head tightly, pulling it up towards him as far as her bindings would allow him. Ginny whimpered as the muscles in her shoulders creaked and ticked with the strain of it. He tilted his head to one side, staring down at her, and then bent close and licked up the side of her face, ending near the hairline at her temple. She shook.

"Don't cry. I cannot stand when women _cry_." He was pushing his body back, moving down her body, until he was between her legs. Ginny instinctively bent her knees, trying to pull herself out of his reach.

He was too fast for her. His hands fastened around her ankles, pulling them down so brutally that she could hear her knees pop sickeningly.

"Don't even. Try. _It_." Each word was punctuated with deep digs of his thumbs, shoveling into the sensitive skin of her instep and her ankles. Ginny raised her head to stare at him, her eyes burnished with tears and complete fury. Lucius raised one of her ankles to his shoulder and bit at the skin, matching her stare the entire time, refusing to break eye contact.

"If you want to watch so badly, you may." He reached up the bed and slid two pillows behind her head, forcing her to remain slanted up right, her eyes trained down the centre of her body, ending between her legs.

He placed his hands on her inner thighs and pushed hard, forcing her legs as wide open as she could physically managed. Ginny watched as he gazed down at her.

"You're wet."

He seemed to like having a one-sided conversation, continuing on without any assent from her.

"You fought so hard—valiantly, you little bitch—and you're wet as winter," Lucius laughed up at her, simultaneously sliding two fingers between her labia, spreading her. Ginny still stared at him, vengeful and yet aroused, hating her traitorous body for reacting, hating herself for reacting and also for fighting, and Lucius brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked, obscenely, raising his eyebrows at her.

She hadn't noticed that he had picked up the knife until she felt the cool hilt along her inner thighs.

Ginny screamed against her gag.

His eyes dropped closed for a sweet second.

"You have no idea—no idea—how arousing that sound is." He opened his eyes and watching her as she resumed her previous struggled with her bonds, panicky and wide-eyed. Lucius wedged his hips between her thighs, forcing her to keep them open even as she began to snap them shut.

"Careful, girl. One rash move and this blade—" he held up the hunting knife, the long ebony handle worn and slickly smooth, the blade honed and sickly sharp—"might—nick you." Ginny turned white and her legs dropped to the mattress with a heavy sound. "Good."

Lucius continued to trace the ebon handle of the knife up and down her inner thighs, watching amusedly as her eyes would widen every time the weapon got close to her centre. Suddenly his movement stopped.

"If you stay still, this might be pleasurable for both of us. If you flinch and if you fidget and if you fight, you will end up bloody. I will end up cutting your inner thighs—accidentally, mind you, but cut you I will." She didn't even have time to react before he was moving closer to her body, forcing her legs apart even further.

The ebony wood knife handle was at her opening. Ginny threw her head back on the pillows and sobbed once before deciding that if she could not control the situation, she would, irrationally, watch it. She slanted her head back up once more and watched Lucius with watery eyes.

He slid an inch of the handle into her, conversing thoughtfully with her while doing so.

"This was a hunting knife that my father gave me when I was seventeen. The first thing I ever skinned was a stag." He was looking at her, almost pleasantly. She swallowed.

He pressed another inch inside.

"It's larger than most knives. The hilt is eight inches." Lucius smiled at her. Ginny moaned softly.

He made quicker headway, pushing another two inches into her, holding the knife blade between fore- and middle-finger and thumb, tightly, away from her skin, in control.

"I learned how to gut, how to drain, how to skin and flay properly. If you ever—_ever_—see my den, you will see my trophies."

He stopped the movement of the knife and tilted his head, looking at her still.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Ginny closed her eyes, breathing deeply and heavily, trying to regain her head. She could feel the hilt inside her, cold and hard and completely unyielding, and she knew that he intended to fuck her with it, to fuck her mercilessly without quarter. She shrieked when he took advantage of her distracted state and pressed the final few inches into her. Her head snapped up again, and she watched as he pulled on a pair of leather gloves, as he fitted a sheath onto the blade of the wicked thing that was now imbedded in her, seven inches deep. She watched his leather-clad hands as he stroked up and down her thighs, up her stomach, leaning up over her to quickly pull the fabric out from her mouth, removing her gag.

She gasped for air.

"Lucius—"

He silenced her by winding a hand in her hair and holding her face steady for a slanting, blooming hard smack of a kiss. Pulling back, he looked at her.

"Behave. Or I will put it back on." Ginny nodded, breathlessly, stupefied, as he settled between her legs again. Wrapping a gloved hand around the knife, he pulled it out, nearly all the way, and slid it back inside her with bruising intent.

Ginny gasped again and her entire body bowed, her back arching pleasantly off of the bed. Lucius repeated his action, angling the hilt so that its obstinate ebony struck an exceptionally good place inside of her. She grunted.

"What do you want Ginevra?" Lucius sawed the handle in and out of her in tiny, incremental motions, waiting for her to concede, to admit.

"Please—"

"Please what? Ask properly."

"Please—please _fuck_ me, Lucius."

He continued his gentle motions.

"With what, girl?"

Ginny sighed and groaned and tilted her head back and forward – she just wanted to feel that angle, that stroke again.

"With—with—" She had lost her train of thought – his leather fingers were upon her clitoris, brushing over her pubic hair, tugging.

"With?" He punctuated his question with a brutal tug and she cried out.

"With—with that. With the—knife. Fuck me—_fuck me_—with the knife."

She knew she had done well when he smiled almost—almost—benevolently at her and tightened his grip on the knife. She could feel the strength of his hands echoing through the object inside of her, and when he withdrew and plunged it again, she moaned. He created a burning tattoo of a rhythm, a primal drumbeat that made her body jar with each forceful push of the hilt back inside of her. The ebony was slick with her—sliding in and out without any resistance or friction, and she moaned—she _moaned_—with abandon as Lucius hastened his pace, his face leisurely but his hands quickened.

"Up—more—up—" Her voice was fragmented but sure, and he surprisingly obliged, angling the handle up and, on his next in-stroke, jarring against that spot inside of her again.

She yelped, hissed, closed and opened her eyes like a broken doll, shuttering her eyelashes and arching her backing, thrusting her breasts upward. Lucius watched the swaying movements of them with each of his thrusts.

Ginny watched as he continued to manipulate the hunting knife with one hand and adroitly undid his pants with the other, stroking himself in time to his other hand.

When he hit that spot again, her vision blurred and the edges of her eyes turned silver and streaked. She swore.

"Fuck."

He didn't chastise her for her language because he had picked up impossible speed, and she could hear the wet sounds her body was making around the handle of the knife, and the ungodly sounds that were coming out of her mouth as he angled his weapon inside of her again and again, pressing against her pulse, her nerves, her core –

"Fuck—fuck—oh, fuck—oh, god, oh, Lucius—oh—_oh_—" Her litany was incoherent and jangled, and on her last words her voice pitched up to a shriek because he had found that perfect place, the perfect place inside of her and he was pushing all of his weight _into_ her, through the knife, through the handle, up, and up, and he was sweating now and shouting out as he came, hot on her inner thigh, and her vision was swimming—blurred and spotted and her entire body arced so powerfully that she couldn't help but shout out too—

When her vision cleared and when she was pulled out of her blackened reverie, he was leaning over her, supporting himself on one hand near her waist. A few rebel strands had escaped his braid. Ginny was vaguely aware of his warm semen, now drying in a congealed smear on her thigh, and of the fact that he was half naked, and that he was untying her.

Her bonds fell free, and the blood prickled back into her hands, warming her fingertips. She breathed. She breathed and sighed and turned her head to look back up at him, and she was yet again made aware—aware that her body and her blood and between her legs were all singing and she was breathing.


End file.
